| 作曲 : Cruz, Green, Thomas | |
| (AZ Talking) | |
| I'm about to get on some Norman Bates shit, and go psycho | |
| Shit, get the right speakers | |
| Let me start a little early, that's what I do | |
| (rapping) | |
| You know my persona, let me kindly remind ya | |
| The Gucci, Garbana, the New-E, the Low, Evisus, designers | |
| How I post up, probably amongst pirahnas | |
| I'm the urban version of that turban-waving Osama | |
| Last of a genre, there's nothing to mash your mind to | |
| Y'all trash, I'll leave half of y'all niggaz in trauma | |
| So I laugh, cause I'd rather clam in vagina | |
| Splash a few grands on some high sand in the sauna | |
| Usually ponder when I puff my little ganjas | |
| Somber, feeling like Don Cheetah in the Hotel Riwanda | |
| You know karma, increase when you cease your drama | |
| It's deep, but you sleep when you feel there's peace upon you | |
| Keep that armor, I formerly greet as a charmer | |
| But beneath is more than mystique, I'm a monster | |
| Came to conquer, no games I came to regain my honor | |
| No lames, it's the same as the brain can conjure | |
| Why launder, when I can outsell the bomber | |
| Miskel, tell Mel, he'll be out of jail by Kwanza | |
| From Tompkins to Guanas, to the hills in Brownsville, I sponsors | |
| Nothing to cock back the Black P-80 Launcher | |
| Any hate can haunt you, I'm straight from the L.I. gates of Yonkers | |
| Down to the Southern states to Great Lakes in Tonker | |
| Young, majestic, the beams from the Sun reflect it | |
| Numb before Bush Senior's son was elected | |
| Eclectic, world respected, like Brother Ube from Dure | |
| But hey, what you expected, perfected, connected | |
| So exit, or have it all in here | |
| We can war when we're, nigga I'm so sincere |
| zuo qu : Cruz, Green, Thomas | |
| AZ Talking | |
| I' m about to get on some Norman Bates shit, and go psycho | |
| Shit, get the right speakers | |
| Let me start a little early, that' s what I do | |
| rapping | |
| You know my persona, let me kindly remind ya | |
| The Gucci, Garbana, the NewE, the Low, Evisus, designers | |
| How I post up, probably amongst pirahnas | |
| I' m the urban version of that turbanwaving Osama | |
| Last of a genre, there' s nothing to mash your mind to | |
| Y' all trash, I' ll leave half of y' all niggaz in trauma | |
| So I laugh, cause I' d rather clam in vagina | |
| Splash a few grands on some high sand in the sauna | |
| Usually ponder when I puff my little ganjas | |
| Somber, feeling like Don Cheetah in the Hotel Riwanda | |
| You know karma, increase when you cease your drama | |
| It' s deep, but you sleep when you feel there' s peace upon you | |
| Keep that armor, I formerly greet as a charmer | |
| But beneath is more than mystique, I' m a monster | |
| Came to conquer, no games I came to regain my honor | |
| No lames, it' s the same as the brain can conjure | |
| Why launder, when I can outsell the bomber | |
| Miskel, tell Mel, he' ll be out of jail by Kwanza | |
| From Tompkins to Guanas, to the hills in Brownsville, I sponsors | |
| Nothing to cock back the Black P80 Launcher | |
| Any hate can haunt you, I' m straight from the L. I. gates of Yonkers | |
| Down to the Southern states to Great Lakes in Tonker | |
| Young, majestic, the beams from the Sun reflect it | |
| Numb before Bush Senior' s son was elected | |
| Eclectic, world respected, like Brother Ube from Dure | |
| But hey, what you expected, perfected, connected | |
| So exit, or have it all in here | |
| We can war when we' re, nigga I' m so sincere |
| zuò qǔ : Cruz, Green, Thomas | |
| AZ Talking | |
| I' m about to get on some Norman Bates shit, and go psycho | |
| Shit, get the right speakers | |
| Let me start a little early, that' s what I do | |
| rapping | |
| You know my persona, let me kindly remind ya | |
| The Gucci, Garbana, the NewE, the Low, Evisus, designers | |
| How I post up, probably amongst pirahnas | |
| I' m the urban version of that turbanwaving Osama | |
| Last of a genre, there' s nothing to mash your mind to | |
| Y' all trash, I' ll leave half of y' all niggaz in trauma | |
| So I laugh, cause I' d rather clam in vagina | |
| Splash a few grands on some high sand in the sauna | |
| Usually ponder when I puff my little ganjas | |
| Somber, feeling like Don Cheetah in the Hotel Riwanda | |
| You know karma, increase when you cease your drama | |
| It' s deep, but you sleep when you feel there' s peace upon you | |
| Keep that armor, I formerly greet as a charmer | |
| But beneath is more than mystique, I' m a monster | |
| Came to conquer, no games I came to regain my honor | |
| No lames, it' s the same as the brain can conjure | |
| Why launder, when I can outsell the bomber | |
| Miskel, tell Mel, he' ll be out of jail by Kwanza | |
| From Tompkins to Guanas, to the hills in Brownsville, I sponsors | |
| Nothing to cock back the Black P80 Launcher | |
| Any hate can haunt you, I' m straight from the L. I. gates of Yonkers | |
| Down to the Southern states to Great Lakes in Tonker | |
| Young, majestic, the beams from the Sun reflect it | |
| Numb before Bush Senior' s son was elected | |
| Eclectic, world respected, like Brother Ube from Dure | |
| But hey, what you expected, perfected, connected | |
| So exit, or have it all in here | |
| We can war when we' re, nigga I' m so sincere |
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